


You woke the Devil (that I thought I'd left behind)

by ralf



Series: Close to Canon [52]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Introspection, all the inherent warnings that come with asmodeus, low-key want to tag 'Lizard Lorenzo' as a character, to show that lorenzo is in it but as a lizard LOL, what an understatement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf
Summary: “Well, as far as roommates go.. he'll be quiet.”[Continues the scene in 3x20. Answering the age-old question who put Lorenzo in his terrarium.]
Relationships: Asmodeus & Magnus Bane
Series: Close to Canon [52]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936036
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	You woke the Devil (that I thought I'd left behind)

**Author's Note:**

> I had already given up on a fic this weekend when my muse was like “!!!!! inspiration”  
> Like me, my muse is mostly motivated by spite and the prospect of proving me wrong, lol. What a pair we make.
> 
> Title is from Linkin Park's “Powerless” because come on, it fits perfectly (slightly varied though, he sings “that I thought _you'd_ left behind”).

“Well, as far as roommates go.. he'll be quiet.”

The chameleon shifts on its stubby legs, slow and clumsy. Its eyes twitch asynchronously and Magnus wonders if it can even make him out from this distance.

“It's good to be the king, isn't it?” Asmodeus's voice wraps around him like sandpaper, rough and chafing, leaving him raw. Mostly because he's right. It _feels_ good. His magic sings in his veins, his heart pounds in his chest, and taking in what is left of Lorenzo's once proud form is more than a little satisfying. He deserves this.

There's a reflex there to deny, to recognize everything wrong about what just happened but before Magnus can untangle it Asmodeus continues, “If he remains that silent and exposed I might accidentally step on him.” He's says it easily, matter-of-factly as if it's a minor inconvenience, nothing more.

“We wouldn't want to ruin the carpet,” Magnus replies. He snaps his fingers like his father did a mere minute ago and blue sparks engulf the lizard, materializing a low table with a terrarium to his right, and depositing the lizard inside. It seems perturbed by this sudden change of scenery, sitting in an empty glass box and Magnus, feeling benevolent, snaps again, conjuring some soil and foliage. Chameleons probably like that sort of thing. Not that he would know.

He watches as the chameleon cautiously climbs onto a thin branch and wonders how much of Lorenzo remains. Is he conscious of his actions, internally seething at his undignified state? Is he temporary reduced to the instincts and simplicity of a lizard? Will he remember this stint if he is changed back?

Can he be changed back? It depends on the spell Asmodeus used.

He doesn't ask.

Apparently his lingering didn't go unnoticed. Asmodeus takes a step towards him, hovering at his back.

“Having second thoughts already?” It's an idle lure as much as it is an honest inquiry. A sly attempt to get Magnus to show his hand. He knows those.

Magnus turns. The thing that catches his eyes though is not his father but the abandoned martini glass right where Lorenzo last stood and a wave of unadulterated anger washes over him. Lorenzo so readily took joy in his pain, so gleefully inflicted even more when Magnus was weak and defenseless, was supposed to be someone under his care. Maybe a taste of his own medicine will teach him some understanding in the future. Magnus scoffs at the half-empty glass. He feels no pity or remorse at all. His ire leaves no space for them.

Nothing of this is new. He's been here before.

He turns completely to look at his father, takes in his familiar face. A face he's known almost all of his life, had adored, then loathed, cursed, feared.

Missed.

And remembered. Always, always remembered.

The one who taught him the fine art of cruelty, of mercilessness, of callous indifference, who guided his descent into darkness.

The one who taught him to command his powers and accept himself, and prevail in a world set out to kill him.

The one who taught him everything, from reading to writing to snapping his fingers.

The one who offered him food, and shelter, and a home, when he had nothing but dirt.

The only one who came for him when he was again left with nothing but pain and himself, and gave him back what he'd lost.

The only one who still cares about him.

Magnus sharply calls forth his magic and a cloud of blue envelops them. When it settles Lorenzo's possessions are gone and the loft looks like Magnus's again. All his.

One final click and the martini glass is in his hand, cleaned and refilled, and Asmodeus carries a tumbler with burning amber liquid, just like Magnus remembers from cold evenings spent in front of a crackling hearth a million lifetimes ago.

“No,” he answers and clinks their glasses together.

Asmodeus smiles at him then, a lazy and self-satisfied smile that nevertheless holds a veil of genuine warmth.


End file.
